


When Andante Meets Allegro (Music Flies)

by kerfuffling



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Violins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:19:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerfuffling/pseuds/kerfuffling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Jared has this excellent idea to try and seduce the hot-ass violinist who lives in his apartment complex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Andante Meets Allegro (Music Flies)

When Jensen was ten years old, his mother decided that her life wouldn’t be complete if she didn’t force him to “develop some musical talent” by learning how to awkwardly play Hot Cross Buns on an instrument of his choosing. Jensen argued against it for two weeks, but she was adamant, researching music teachers and youth orchestra programs like Jensen would die alone and destitute if she failed to get everything just right.

Anyways, she dragged Jensen to an assembly at the middle school auditorium designed specifically for parents who wanted to force their children into a life of band geekdom. Twenty eighth graders clustered on the stage, nervously playing dumbed-down Vivaldi before a handful of mothers fantasizing about musically-gifted progeny and their children, most of whom were ready to cut off their fingers with butter knives to avoid being players in that very same concert three years later.

When the song had ended (unevenly, despite the conductor’s best efforts), the children in the audience were invited to come up and figure out which instrument they were best suited for. After some deliberation, Jensen picked up a tiny violin and decided that with little effort, he could play squeakily enough and loudly enough to dissuade his mother from forcing him to continue. Three days later, he was equipped with a violin of his own, unfortunate orchestra-dork label included at no extra cost.

It fucking figures that that violin was one of the worst best decisions he’d ever made.

**

In retrospect, Jensen knows that he should’ve made two trips up to his apartment. Juggling five full grocery bags, a six-pack of beer, and his computer bag seemed doable at the time, but now that’s he’s wrestling to unlock the front door to his apartment complex with his key fob whilst keeping everything in his arms from falling to the floor, he’s beginning to wish that he’d been practical instead.

Miraculously, he manages to pull the door open without smashing his eggs on the dirt-slicked linoleum of the entranceway. His head is down, trying to maintain his tenuous grip on his belongings while lurching towards the elevators, and that’s when he runs into a brick wall masquerading as a very tall man. Jensen stumbles three steps to his left but can’t quite keep his balance.

“Ow, shit,” Jensen says as his shoulder jams into the wall, losing his grip on two of his bags.

“Dude, I am so sorry!” Brick Wall exclaims, bending over to help Jensen pick up his wayward groceries. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jensen grunts as he tries to steady himself without losing more of his armload to the ground. He looks up to reclaim his bags and immediately feels himself blush because this guy? Yeah, this guy’s gorgeous and tall and he’s looking at Jensen with these big gray eyes, and Jensen’s brain’s just not wired to be faced with this much hot guy stimulation without losing some of its capacity for normal human interaction.

“No really, it’s totally my fault,” the guy continues. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was thinking if I should check my mail now, or if I should do it later, you know? Like, is there anything in there I need to look for right this second, or can I just wait until tomorrow when I’m feeling a little less lazy?” He trials off and rubs the back of his head, and if Jensen’s brain hadn’t been fritzing out, he might’ve classified the gesture as embarrassed.

“Really, it’s okay,” Jensen says lamely. “I wasn’t paying attention either.”

“Lemme at least help you upstairs,” he says, juggling one of Jensen’s bags from his left hand to his right. He’s got this earnest look on his face, and it might’ve made Jensen feel less stupid about the whole situation were it not for the fact that he went and fell over and shit. Jesus.

“Hey, no,” Jensen starts, but the guy waves one of his huge hands dismissively.

“It’s the least I could do after nearly knocking you over. Man, I hope there wasn’t anything breakable in these.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Jensen says, a little awkwardly. The guy starts towards the elevators before Jensen can insist that he doesn’t need the help, and if either of Jensen’s hands were free at the moment, he’d be considering face-palming at the whole uncomfortable situation.

“I’m Jared, by the way,” he says as they wait for the elevator, and now Jensen has a name to go with the dimples. 

“Jensen,” Jensen says, wishing that he was better at this small-talk thing Jared’s trying to get going. He shuffles his feet, looking at the little lighted buttons that indicate which floor the elevator’s on, trying to use telepathic waves to make it come to the ground floor faster. Of course, it seems to be stuck on two, because elevators only come when Jensen’s too far away to make it into them.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” Jared says. “You new to the building?”

Jensen doesn’t really know how to answer this question without feeling like a loser. Yes, he’s sort of new--moved in about a month ago after he’d finally saved enough money to afford rent on an apartment that wasn’t a shithole--but a month’s long enough for him to have met the neighbors, and he hasn’t bothered to do that yet.

“Kind of,” he deflects, letting Jared hold the elevator doors open for him.

“What floor?” Jared’s got his fingers poised over the button pad like an over-zealous four-year old.

“Four,” Jensen says.

“”Hey, so am I!” Jared exclaims warmly, and whoa--if Jensen was a girl, his knees might’ve gone weak at the sight of Jared’s crooked smile. “Dude, you must’ve moved into Gabe’s old place. If I’d’ve known, I’d definitely have stopped over. Are you a vampire or something? ‘Cause I’ve never seen you waiting for the elevator or anything--I thought the landlord just hadn’t found anyone to move in yet.”

“No, no nocturnal lifestyle here,” Jensen says a little slowly. “We probably just have opposite schedules or something.” The doors open again, and Jared takes the lead, even though technically Jensen should be showing him where to go. He waits by the door as Jensen unlocks the deadbolt and then follows him inside. 

“Where do you want these?” Jared asks as Jensen puts his own bags in a haphazard pile outside the doorway to the kitchen.

“The counter’d be great,” he says as he heads back to the bedroom to put his computer on the desk before he accidentally smashes it too. When he comes back, Jared’s already gathered the rest of the bags into Jensen’s kitchen and is standing in Jensen’s little living room, sort of staring at his violin case.

“Um, thanks for the help,” Jensen says, because he’s not sure if he should be defending his violin or not, what with the way Jared’s fixating on it. But then Jared turns around and his smile’s wider than ever.

“So you’re the one who plays the violin,” he says, and Jensen’s cheeks go bright red again. “I was wondering if it was someone actually playing or just Mrs. Robinson listening to the classical music station too loudly again.”

“Uh, no, I play,” Jensen mumbles. “I didn’t know anyone could hear it through the walls--sorry. You should’ve just banged on the door or something. I would’ve stopped.”

“Hey, no way, man,” Jared says, and he’s smiling even wider than before. “You’re really good! You play professionally?”

“Nah, just a hobby,” Jensen says, shifting uncomfortably under the praise.

“We should play together sometime,” Jared says, and what? Either Jensen’s brain hasn’t fully recovered yet or he’s just not capable of following Jared’s train of thought. Whichever way, Jensen can’t find something to say in response, and he ends up giving Jared what must amount to a completely clueless look.

“I mean,” Jared continues, and Jensen’s not entirely sure, but he thinks that Jared’s finally catching up to this whole blushing-like-a-prepubscent-girl game Jensen’s got going on, “I play too. Not the violin--the cello. Is that weird of me to ask you that? I feel weird.”

“Nah,” Jensen says, glad to once again be on common ground. “But maybe you should give me a clearer path to the door. You never know if I’m gonna have to run away from the crazy, let’s-play-our-instruments-together guy who followed me inside.”

Jared laughs, this loud, belly laugh, that makes Jensen’s mouth turn up into a smile. “That was a joke, right?” he asks. “You don’t really think that I’m going to chop you up and hide you in the walls, yeah?”

“You’re too nice of a guy for murder. Maybe low-level stalkerdom, if you’re feeling ambitious. But--I don’t know. I kind of feel like I’m in seventh grade again with this whole let’s make music idea, you know?”

“Come on,” Jared wheedles, his dimples out in full-force. “You have a violin, I have a cello. Together, we could probably play loud enough to annoy the Adams’ teenage son into never coming home.”

“Is he the one who’s always screaming about how horrible his life is?”

“Before blasting My Chemical Romance loud enough to hear in the lobby? Yeah,” Jared says.

“Well,” Jensen hedges, and then makes a split-second decision that may or may not be directly influenced by Jared’s undeniable status as a hot-ass. “I guess. But I’m holding you to that promise. If I have to hear any more emo rock after this, I’m rescinding my offer.”

**

The first time Jensen heads down the hall to Jared’s apartment, he feels like an idiot. He’s holding his violin case and a little collapsible stand, and he almost turns back three separate times before he knocks.

Jared pulls the door open almost immediately, and Jensen wonders if he’d been waiting just inside the apartment. Jared throws his arm out invitingly, and Jensen steps into an apartment that’s practically a mirror image of his own with different family pictures on the wall.

“You came,” Jared says, and Jensen doesn’t know exactly where his unerring enthusiasm is coming from. He’s seen Jared three times since running into him in the lobby, and Jared always makes time to stop and talk. Jensen doesn’t understand how anyone under retirement age cares enough to know everyone in the apartment complex, but Jared is friends with every geriatric couple living in the building, if the stories he’s told Jensen are anything to go by. Last time they met, they’d talked for nearly half an hour in the hall before Jared remember that he was late. It’s strange--Jensen hasn’t found a friend this quickly in his entire time in the city.

“Yeah,” he says. “I figured you know where I live and you’d just annoy me if I skipped out.”

“Yup, that sounds like me.” Jared smiles. “Anyways, I picked us up some music at the store down on Eleventh. I don’t know what you like, so I just kinda choose at random. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says again. “I play just about anything, so.”

It ends up that Jared’s kind of an under-exaggerator. Some music ends up being about thirty different pieces, ranging in difficulty and genre, everything from Mozart to pop-culture compilations. Jensen almost feels like he’s taking lessons again in Mr. Novak’s old-lady living room.

They end up playing a duet by Glière, a composer that Jensen’s not sure he’s ever heard of. It takes them a few tries to get the tempo right, and the volume, but then they’re playing, actually playing, and Jensen’s not sure he can remember when playing his violin last felt like this. The low cadence of Jared’s cello vibrates through the air, a perfect counterpart to the higher notes Jensen’s producing. It’s regal, slightly mournful at one point, and Jensen’s not sure if it’s the music or the way they’re playing it, but it’s coming easier than it maybe should. His fingers are shifting perfectly into position, and his bow is pulling the melody from the strings with little effort. Jared’s vibrato makes his notes rich and low, and Jensen shivers from the sound of them together.

Jensen can practically feel the mellow vibrations of Jared’s notes in his bones, and the way the music is coming together is almost overwhelming. Caught up in the way Jared’s playing, Jensen misses a note and then plays the next one off-tune on accident. He cringes internally and pulls his fingers tighter together, accounting for the sharpness of his mistaken note by making sure his fingers fall into the correct position again. Forcing himself to concentrate on his own sheet music, he slurs his eighth notes to match what the count is, rather than what Jared sounds like. But it’s too hard to hold, trying to go against Jared’s musicality to follow the technicalities on the page, so he lets himself fall back into the adjustment, and things are right again. He quickly shifts his wrist into third position to execute some higher notes on the E string, and their harmony is pitch-perfect.

They finish the song and look at each other. Jared is first to break the silence. “Told you this was a good idea,” he says, beaming.

“I’ll never doubt you again,” Jensen says dryly, as Jared reaches down to choose something else for them to play.

**

It sort of becomes a routine for Jensen to head over to Jared’s a couple of nights a week. At first, they just played together, but then Jared weaseled him into staying for dinner, and now it’s become more natural and less “let’s make music together”, and Jensen can’t say he’s too upset over that. He tries to gauge to see if Jared’s a let’s-eat-pizza-and-drink-beer-and-talk-about-sports guy or if he’s more of a I like you, you like me, where’s the lube? kind of person, but he’s not too good at figuring people out, and their relationship morphs into an easy friendship, categorized by good takeout and bad movies and the occasional piece of classical music.

Their friendship doesn’t stop Jensen from looking at Jared and thinking about Jared doing things that friends don’t do together unless they’re in it for benefits. He feels guilty about it sometimes, but he can’t help it. There’s just something about the way that Jared plays his cello, how his hair falls into his face when he’s concentrating on the notes, and sometimes when he gets caught up in the music, Jensen can’t help staring. He plays like an artist, like the only thing he was born to do was play that cello.

Jensen tried to ask Jared about it, about why Jared decided to start playing. Jared had talked about his momma and about starting on a tiny viola when he was too young for a full-size cello. Jensen told him once that he was good enough to play professionally, but Jared laughed it off, rubbing at the back of his neck and deflecting the question, and Jensen wonders if someone’s ever given him shit about playing. Because that would be totally fucked up--he doesn’t see how anyone who’s seen Jared play could possibly have anything negative to say afterwards.

Anyways, respect for Jared’s mad cello skills aside, Jensen really would prefer it if he would stop being so fucking adorable. Jensen’s a single, gay man in his sexual peak, and it’s getting hard (ha, literally) to pretend that he’s in it for the bromance when what he really wants is Jared spread out on his bed, looking like every wet dream Jensen’s ever had. But Jensen isn’t sure he’s getting any signals outside of friendship from Jared, and he’s too much of a pussy to try anything.

Which is why he’s particularly surprised when Jared finally mans up and asks him out.

“Hey, if I ask you something, will you promise not to hate me if you don’t like what I’m saying?” Jared says, after they’ve finished off their takeout, some Indian stuff that Jared liked and Jensen remains skeptical about. Jensen’s on his third beer, savoring how it mixes with the curry flavor at the back of his throat, and he’s relaxed and maybe slightly buzzed, sitting on Jared’s ridiculously comfortable armchair.

“Who says I don’t hate you already?” Jensen says. “I’m only tolerating you because sometimes you give me free beer.”

“Haha, very funny,” says Jared. “I’m being serious here, man.”

“Unless you’re about to tell me that your favorite food is baby stew, I think it’s safe to say that I won’t hate you in the morning,” Jensen says.

“Come on, Jensen,” Jared says, deadpan. “You know that I only eat kitten soup. Babies are too tough for my stomach.” Jensen laughs, and Jared’s face morphs into the same serious expression its had since the conversation started. “No, seriously.”

“Totally serious,” Jensen says, only he adopts a valley girl accent, which makes Jared swat him in the shoulder. And Jensen can’t take that shit without retaliating, so it kinda turns into a manly bitch-fight until Jared’s beer almost spills.

“Enough!” Jared says. “Just--look. Will you go to dinner with me?”

“Didn’t we just have dinner?” Jensen asks, because his brain has been effectually distracted by how very, very good Jared smells tonight. And maybe also because he’s just finished his beer, and that buzz is definitely settling in.

“I mean, like _dinner_ dinner,” Jared says, staring down at his lap.

“Does Indian not count?” Jensen asks, because he’s still not getting where Jared’s trying to go.

“I mean dinner! Like dinner and maybe a movie! A date, you retard!” Jared says. “Jesus. I’m cutting you off. You get stupid when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Jensen says reflexively and then it catches up to him. “Wait--you mean like a let’s go out and eat and then maybe do other stuff date?”

“I take it back,” Jared says. “I can’t date someone as dumb as you. My momma wouldn’t approve.”

“You’re serious?” Jensen says. “You want to date me?”

“Look, I’m sorry.” Jared looks a little scared that Jensen’s about to deck him. “Just forget I said anything.”  
“No, no, no,” Jensen says. “I mean, yeah, I’ll get dinner with you. You just kinda caught me off guard, you know?”

“Yeah?” Jared says, smiling, and Jensen’s head kind of feels like it might come off his shoulders and his stomach is a tight knot of happiness. He’s ecstatic, and scared that he’s misreading the situation even though he’s clearly not, and Jared’s still smiling.

“Took you long enough,” Jensen returns. And then, “Wait, wait, wait. Was the whole “let’s play our instruments together” just a ruse to get into my pants?”

“Jesus, shut up!” Jared exclaims, crumbling a napkin and throwing it at Jensen. Jensen lobs it back, and Jared mocks his aim and calls him a girl and it’s like Jared never asked Jensen out in the first place. Except for the fact that he totally did.

Jensen doesn’t stop smiling until he falls asleep, and even then it’s a close call.

**

If Jensen hadn’t known Jared before their first date, if Jared had asked him out in the elevator the first day they met, Jensen isn’t sure that he’d want to go out with him again. Because Jared might be gorgeous, but their first date could maybe go down in the books as being one of the most awkward experiences of Jensen’s life. And he’s pretty shy sometimes, so he has no shortage of those.

They go out to dinner, but Jensen hasn’t gotten used to the fact that he’s allowed to like Jared as a sex object, and Jared is just really bad at this whole dating thing. Conversation’s always been easy between them, but it’s like someone erased their ability to talk to each other, and these long silences keep cropping up between their conversations. Their waitress doesn’t take the hint that they’re actually dating, and she keeps hitting on Jared, and Jared’s really bad at rejecting her advances, and all in all, it’s a pretty terrible night. When it’s over, Jensen slips into his apartment, and Jared disappears into his with hardly a goodnight said between them. Jensen spends the rest of the night moping about the shitty state his life is in and how their friendship has entered fubar territory.

He’s still in a crappy mood the next evening, sitting on his couch half-heartedly watching Will Smith blow shit up, when someone knocks at the door. Jensen half-considers ignoring it, but the person on the other side is persistent, banging. Jensen is beginning to wonder if he’s forgotten to pay rent or something, but when he gets to the door, it’s Jared on the other side, slightly flushed.

“Listen, this is really fucking stupid,” Jared says, stepping right into Jensen’s space before he can react. “Look, I really like you okay? And I’ve wanted to kiss you since I knocked you over in the lobby, and I’m not gonna let one bad night ruin it.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you suck at this?” Jensen asks, a bit faintly, because Jared’s right up in his face, determined and right fuckin’ there.

“Shut up,” Jared says, and he steps impossibly closer. “I shoulda done this last night. Shouldn’t have been such an idiot.”

“Done what?” Jensen says, and then Jared’s huge hand is cradling his jaw, tilting Jensen’s head up. Their teeth clash at first, but Jared barely pulls back before he tries again, and it works this time, wet and hot and hungry. Jared’s hand is cradling his jaw, licking the bitter tang of coffee from Jensen’s mouth, his tongue thrusting thickly against Jensen’s until all Jensen can think about is getting closer together. His hands settle on Jared’s hips and he tugs at Jared until there’s no space between them. Jared pulls back slightly and Jensen chases his lips until they’re kissing again, making out like teenagers in Jensen’s doorway. 

Jared pulls back again and Jensen lets him, his lips tight and tingling. Smiling widely, Jared says, “Come out with me again. I promise not to freak out this time.”

“Freak out?” Jensen murmurs, resisting the urge to brush his fingertips against Jared’s face.

“Yeah, you know,” Jared says, ducking his head abashedly. “I was kinda nervous last night.”

“You girl,” Jensen says.

“Shut the fuck up,” says Jared playfully. “You’d better agree to come out with me again. I’ll just bug you until you do.”  
“Oh god,” Jensen mutters. “Fine, fine, whatever. It better be good this time, or else I just might have to move away.”

“If things go wrong again,” Jared says, leaning closer, “I’ll even help you pack.” Jared brushes his lips against Jensen’s again, and it’s different this time, gentle and exploring. Tangling his fingers in Jared’s hair, Jensen lets himself fall into Jared’s space, and it’s so good, Jensen kind of wishes it could go on forever.

**

Their next date starts off with a forty-five minute car ride, most of which is spent stuck in traffic. Jared won’t tell him where they’re going, and they spend almost ten minutes arguing over whether surprises are for girls, during which Jensen has to defend his manhood on three separate occasions. Jensen would be annoyed, but Jared keeps making him laugh with his crazy non-sequiturs, so he lets it slide . Their conversation is back to normal, none of that first date shit, and Jensen’s so relieved he could almost cry.

“Jesus,” Jensen says after Jared makes a split-second decision and ratchets around a corner going about twenty miles faster than he should’ve. “You drive like my blind grandmother.”  
“Fuck you,” Jared laughs. “We’re almost there, sweetheart. I’ll drop you off and you can get us seats like a good girlfriend.”

“I will stab you,” Jensen says, picking up the thread of their earlier conversation without much effort. He considers making a lewd joke, but the accompanying gesture would be lost if he had to perform it while sitting in the car. Jared pulls into a parking garage, almost side-swiping a little Toyota trying to find a parking space.

“I’m never driving with you again,” Jensen says once his feet are back on solid ground. “Shit was fucking dangerous.”

“Fuck you,” Jared says again. “I am an awesome driver. I’m practically Vin Diesel.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says deadpan, raising his eyebrows at Jared. “More like Alicia Silverstone.”

“Did you just make a Clueless reference?” Jared asks. “Man, you are so fuckin’ gay.”

“You got my reference and you’re wearing a pink shirt,” Jensen says. “You should not be throwing stones here.” 

“My shirt is the epitome of masculinity,” Jared says haughtily as they exit onto the street. He takes a left, and Jensen follows him into a little coffee house type deal.

“Or not,” Jensen says. He gives the shop a once-over, feeling kind of skeptical. He’s not sure he understands why Jared would drive all the way downtown to get some coffee. Jared wraps one of his bear paws around Jensen’s hand and pulls him to a little table in front of what looks to be a little stage meant for gothic chicks to read their emo poetry to a group of adoring gothic dudes waiting to get laid.

Jared seems to pick up on his confusion. “You’ll see,” he says, trying to be enigmatic. Jensen instead looks around to see if he can find a flier advertising what they’re waiting for. There are several brightly colored pieces of paper affixed to a bulletin board in the corner, but they all contain band names that make no sense to Jensen, and he gives up after a while. Jared buys him a coffee, and Jensen is maybe on his way to forgiving him for the disaster of their first date when the staff members start setting up the stage. Before long, four chairs are arranged in a semicircle, along with four music stands. Jensen’s maybe a little closer to figuring things out, but he’s not quite there yet.

A few people trudge up onto the stage, each holding their own instrument. Two violinists, one violist, and a cellist, and Jensen’s about ready to tell Jared that not everything they do has to revolve around music for them to have a good time.

But then the quartet settles, and they instantly go into an instrumental version of Carry On My Wayward Son, and it’s fuckin’ awesome. They follow it up with Metallica and some Aerosmith, the violinists’ fingers fluttering against the strings in a phrenetic rhythm, drawing out the melody with quick, smooth movements of their bows. Jensen’s completely caught up in the music, so he doesn’t even notice it when Jared moves his chair closer.

“Told you you’d like it,” Jared says in his ear as the quartet gears up for another song.

“Dude,” is all Jensen has time to say before they’re flying into another song. Jared trails his arm on Jensen’s chair back, and the brush of his fingers against Jensen’s arms makes his skin tingle.

**

Later, they’re back in the car, and Jared is once again trying to run every single other car off the road. Jensen hardly notices.

“How’d you know about them?” Jensen asks, because he’s enough of a dork to admit that Jared hit the nail on the head for their date tonight.

“I don’t know. Just heard about them before, I guess?” says Jared. “I remembered about them, and I kinda stumbled across their performance tonight on accident.”

“Lucky accident,” Jensen says.

Jared smiles coyly and slants a quick look sideways at Jensen. “So you’re gonna let me surprise you another time then?”

“Maybe,” Jensen hedges, but he can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Yeah sure, whatever,” Jared scoffs. He pauses for a second and then continues, “So, I kinda have something to admit.”

Jensen’s instantly wary. “This isn’t where you tell my that your name used to be Jaredina, is it?”

“Jaredina is a beautiful name,” Jared jokes. “My parents were very inventive. Nah, man. Just...I lied when I first met you.”

“About what?” 

“About not knowing you before we ran into each other? I mean, I technically didn’t _know you_ know you, but I’d seen you around.”

“I don’t get it,” Jensen says. “Why would you lie about something like that?”

“Um,” Jared says. “I sort of thought you were really hot? And I wanted to get to know you but I didn’t know how, so I kind-of-on-purpose ran into you?”

“You knocked me over on purpose?” Jensen says. He kind of wants to be angry, but the situation is so wholly ridiculous that he can’t muster anything besides amusement. “Dude, you smashed my groceries so you would have a reason to talk to me? You’re such an idiot.”

“I’ll make it up to you, baby,” Jared says, and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, my God,” Jensen says. “You really were using my violin as a reason to get into my pants. You’re like a creepy pedophile music teacher trying to seduce his jailbait student.”

“Shut up!” Jared says, swinging at Jensen blindly with an open palm.

“Come on, now,” Jensen says. “Our relationship’s already built on lies. Let’s not add domestic abuse to the list. I gotta keep some of my dignity.”

“Bite me,” Jared says, but he’s grinning widely, and Jensen’s pretty sure that he’s getting lucky tonight.

 

**

Their relationship is probably the weirdest one Jensen’s ever been in. There’s kissing and dates and fucking, sure, and Jensen’s used to that. But the friendship that they’d started with is still there, and for as many times as they end up in bed, there are an equal number of nights where they just sit in front of the TV and shoot the shit while watching sports. Jensen’s never been friends with his boyfriends before, but he’s pretty sure he likes it. And they still play together sometimes, mostly because they both like it and partly because there’s something about Jared playing his cello that makes Jensen want to kiss him until they both can’t breathe properly.

“So,” Jensen says, watching Jared zip up his cello case. “This girl at work gave me tickets to the symphony orchestra next weekend. You interested?” Jared stiffens a little but he turns around, smiling slightly.

“I dunno, Jen,” Jared says. “We keep going on these kinda dates, and I’m gonna feel like a stereotype.”

“Shut up,” Jensen laughs. “She was going to go with her friend but something came up, and she figured I’d might like them.”

“When is it?” Jared asks, coming to sit next to Jensen on the couch.

“Saturday night,” Jensen says. “I think they’re doing some special program, or something.”

“Shit, I can’t,” Jared says apologetically. “I have to work. Some special charity dinner or something. If I’m not there and something goes wrong, the boss’ll have my balls for dessert.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Jensen says, slightly disappointed. “I’ll just find someone else to go with.” Jared winces at that, and Jensen wonders if he said something wrong.

“Nah, baby,” Jared says. “You should just stay home and cook for me. Be a good girlfriend.”

“If you don’t stop calling me a girl, I’m going to break up with you and find someone who’s not a jackass.”

“You’d never,” Jared says, moving closer to Jensen until the couch cushions sag and bring them together in the middle. “And if you’re not a girl, maybe you should prove it to me.”

“You did not just say that,” Jensen said. “Please tell me you did not just say that.” Instead of answering, Jared uses his gigantic hand to angle Jensen’s face towards him, kissing him softly. His fingers are still sticky from rosin, and they’re running tackily over Jensen’s cheek. Inhaling quietly, Jensen opens his mouth to Jared, his tongue catching on the ridges of Jared’s teeth. It’s soft for a minute or two, but then Jared takes the chance to deepen the kiss, pushing into Jensen’s space until Jensen’s half-sitting, half-lying on the couch, Jared practically sprawled out on top of him. Jensen starts pulling Jared’s tongue into his mouth with small sucks, and Jared moans quietly. Arching up into him, Jensen fits his hips against Jared’s and pulls until Jared is lying flush against him, head swimming as Jared deepens the kiss. 

Jensen feels a low moan escape his throat as Jared begins to thrust his tongue dirtily into Jensen’s mouth, and the noise spurs Jared into moving his hips against Jensen’s, a slow, steady roll that makes Jensen’s lower belly tighten in anticipation. His cock begins to harden at the friction, and the feel of Jared’s burgeoning erection against his makes him moan even louder.

“Like that?” Jared murmurs, pulling his mouth away from Jensen’s to mouth at the underside of Jensen’s jaw.

“Fuck,” Jensen says in a low tone as Jared finds the sensitive spot on Jensen’s neck that always makes him break out in goosebumps. He throws his mouth back against the pillow to give Jared better access and Jared chuckles low in his throat and keeps placing open-mouthed kisses against Jensen’s skin.

“C’mon, Jared,” Jensen says, fitting his hands to pull Jared’s hips tighter against his, trying to increase the friction into something beyond the soft rhythm Jared’s begun.

“Pushy, pushy,” Jared murmurs against his pulse point, biting down lightly before soothing the hurt with one broad stroke of his tongue.

Jensen tries to summon the sense of thought to come up with a response, but all coherency vanishes when Jared uses one of his big hands to ruck Jensen’s t-shirt up, smoothing one palm over the flat of Jensen’s stomach. Pulling Jared’s mouth back to his, Jensen lets his mouth fall open, kissing Jared hungrily, twining his hands in Jared’s hair.

“Bedroom,” Jensen says breathlessly when they break, and even though it was his idea, it takes him a second to comprehend what’s going on when he’s suddenly lying on the couch, alone. He half-stumbles when Jared grabs his hand, pulling him up until he’s on his feet, kissing him shortly before pulling him back through the hall that leads to his bedroom.

They practically fall through the doorway and end up propped against the wall, making out. Jensen is pretty content with Jared’s tongue in his mouth and the steady grind of their lower bodies, but Jared seems to be in the mindset of getting things going. Worming a hand southward, he pops the button on Jensen’s jeans, palming Jensen’s cock through his boxers.

The process of taking their clothes off is a strange dance, and once Jensen’s on the bed, Jared almost trips on top of him trying to step out of his jeans. Correcting himself so he’s on his side next to Jensen, Jared leans in and they’re kissing again, hot and wet. Jared wraps one hand around Jensen’s cock, thumbing at the pre-come pooled at the slit, before starting a steady slide up and down, and Jensen nearly comes out of his skin, it’s that good. To distract himself from coming, he busies himself with sucking a hickey on Jared’s collarbone, using his teeth to nibble at his skin.

Jared rolls away again, and Jensen makes a protesting moan low in his throat at the loss of contact. He hears Jared wrench the nightstand drawer open and Jared unceremoniously dumps lube and a condom onto the comforter. Jensen’s belly tightens in anticipation--they’ve only done this once before, and Jensen is so ready to make this a common event.

Jared opens his mouth to say something but Jensen doesn’t give him the chance before pulling a move that puts Jared on his back with Jensen straddling his hips. 

“Whoa,” Jared breathes as Jensen brushes one finger against the tightened nub of Jared’s nipple. He follows up with his tongue and smiles slightly when he hears the gasped intake of breath Jared takes when he bites down gently. Jensen spends some time kissing along Jared’s chest, ignoring the insistent line of Jared’s cock, trapped between them.

“Wanna fuck me, Jared?” Jensen asks, his lips brushing Jared’s pectoral.

“God, Jen, yes,” Jared groans, bucking up against Jensen’s weight. Jensen bites his chest in reprimand for the nickname but gropes with one hand for the lube. There’s a nervous little flutter in his belly, because last time they did this, Jared had been on the bottom, but Jensen wants this, wants to feel Jared’s cock inside of him, wants to be the reason that Jared’s falling apart. Uncapping the lube, he liberally coats his fingers and then reaches back to finger himself open. Jared, moaning at the sight of Jensen opening himself up, throws his head back against the pillow. 

Jensen goes through the prep as quickly as he can, relishing the slight ache before he withdraws his fingers. Using the last of the lube, he jacks Jared, rough and hard, until Jared is on the verge of pleading. 

“C’mon, Jesus, need to be in you, please.” The words falling from Jared’s mouth constitute a steady stream of filth, and Jensen makes fast work of the condom, rolling it on. He doesn’t give himself time to hesitate or think, just positions himself over Jared, guiding Jared inside of him slowly until he’s sitting on Jared’s lap. It feels so good, Jared inside of him, filling him up.

Jared surges up and kisses him filthily, thrusting his tongue against Jensen’s in a rough pantomime of what he’s planning to do with his cock. Jensen feels himself open around Jared, slowly getting used to the penetration, and he begins to move, riding Jared with slow, easy movements. 

“Please, God, can I?” Jared says after a minute and Jensen’s barely given the affirmative before Jared’s placed both hands on Jensen’s hips, slamming up into him. Jared starts thrusting, fast and steady, and Jensen’s saying something but he’s not sure what, too strung out on the feeling of Jared moving within him to hear anything beyond the rush of blood in his ears. Jared starts jerking Jensen off, and it’s too much for Jensen to handle, too fuckin’ much. Jensen comes against Jared’s stomach, shuddering from the stimulation, and Jared speeds up, coming less than a minute after the last aftershocks have left Jensen boneless and sated.

Jensen slumps against Jared, kissing his chest lazily before rolling off, letting Jared’s softening cock slide out of him with a slight wince. Almost immediately, Jared throws an arm around him, pulling Jensen tight against him. Jensen wants to accuse him of being a closet-cuddler, but instead he sags against the warmth of Jared’s body and falls into a comfortable doze.

** 

Honestly, Jensen wasn’t planning on going to the concert alone. There was the whole loser factor figuring into being that guy who goes to social events without a date, and he just wasn’t sure if it was worth taking the effort to dress up if there wasn’t a chance of getting laid afterwards. Up until Friday afternoon, he’d been planning to veg out, eat crappy food, and hope that Jared got home early enough to make ambushing him at his apartment door a worthwhile endeavor.

Since he isn’t planning on going, he finds the girl who gave him the tickets, Alona, in the hallway at work. He can’t really remember why she’d thought he’d like them, but he figures he might as well give them back to her if he’s not going to use them. “Hey,” he says, “do you know of anyone else who’d want these?” He fans the tickets out, trying to hand them back to her. “Turns out my boyfriend can’t go.”

“Really?” She wrinkles her little nose as she reaches for them. “That kinda sucks.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says. “I don’t really feel like going by myself, so...”

“No, I get it,” she says. “Going alone totally blows. Sorry! I thought you’d like them since you’re always listening to your violin music in your cube.” 

Oh, that’s right. She’d come over to ask him for a question when he’d been using some classical music to distract him from the time suck that was budget analysis, and they’d started talking about how weird it was to listen to classical music and be under the age of fifty. She was one of the only younger people in their department, and it was nice to be able to talk about the woes of their jobs with someone who understood why crappy expense projections weren’t the end-all-be-all of good office conversation.

“Yeah,” Jensen says. “I wanted to go.”

“So did I.” Alona pouts for a second. “I couldn’t find anyone else to go with either.” Then she sort of perks up, looking at him through a curtain of blonde hair. “Hey! Why don’t we go together? I mean, I want to go, you want to go. Just as friends?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to let her down gently, but Jensen takes a second to consider. He does want to go, but he’s not so sure about spending the night with a work colleague that he doesn’t know very well. But Alona’s looking at him expectantly, and she knows that he has a boyfriend, so he makes a snap judgement. 

“Sure, that sounds great,” he says. If it’s a tad bit unenthusiastic, Alona doesn’t notice, and they make plans to meet downtown at the symphony hall. He’s a bit apprehensive about how he’s going to be able to keep up a running conversation with someone he doesn’t know very well for an entire evening, but he pushes it to the back of his mind.

**

The drive downtown isn’t terrible, but it takes Jensen a while to find parking, and when he does, he pays an arm and a leg for it. He’s dressed as casually as he could get away with, khaki slacks and a button-down, and when he finds Alona in the crowd in front of the hall, he’s glad to see that she hasn’t slutted herself up for him. It’s promising to know that she’s not going to try and turn him straight with a wonder-bra, and they fall into an easy conversation from the get-go as they find their seats. Alona’d won them in some sort of classic music radio station give-away, so they’re pretty good, right near the right part of the stage.

It turns out that Alona played the flute in high school, and they spend the twenty minutes before the curtain rises commiserating over after-school practices and arrogant first chair players. The dimming of the lights interrupts Jensen’s story involving his douchebag sophomore-year stand partner, and the thrum of the instruments tuning causes him to trail off before he’s done.

The orchestra has deviated from its usual program and is playing movie themes instead of its usual fare. Alona’s leaning forward in her seat as the curtain finishes rising and the conductor uses his baton to rouse the players into the brass-heavy Star Wars theme, the sound bouncing off the walls, echoing perfectly. At first, he’s not really paying attention to the players, concentrating on the music, picking up the underlying harmony as it supports the strong melody. But then, as soon as the first song’s over, the conductor pulls the group into a song that Jensen thinks he recognizes from Pirates of the Carribean, and it makes Jensen freeze in his seat.

It’s not the music that’s got him this time; the song started with a cello solo, jaunty and perfectly tuned, and Jensen knows that sound. He’s heard that cello being played more than a dozen times, played with it in his crappy apartment. He’s not even sure how he knows except that he does, and he scans the players until he finds him, sitting at the front of the section, playing as strongly and beautifully as he does when he’s alone. Jared. 

Jensen’s stomach does an uneasy roll and he feels slightly nauseous. Jared told him that he was in party-planning. He was supposed to be at a fucking political dinner tonight, not leading the cello section in the symphony orchestra. Humiliation blooms warm in Jensen’s chest, because he’s been playing violin with a fucking section leader of the city orchestra, and he never even knew it. Fuck, he’s been dating a fucking musical prodigy and he had absolutely no idea. 

The orchestra plays at least half a dozen more songs, but Jensen sits in a daze until the curtain falls again, signaling intermission. He turns to Alona, trying to find an excuse to leave early so he can go home and sort through his thoughts. However, something else entirely falls off the tip of his tongue. 

“What about that lead cello player, huh?” he says. It sounds lame to his ears, but it’s the only thing he could think of at the time.

“I know, right?” Alona says. “He’s so awesome. I came here a couple of years ago to hear him play. It was kind of a big deal when he joined our orchestra. I mean, I think he’s some sort of musical genius. Juilliard graduate, or something. No one could believe when he came here instead of going to another city.”

“Wow,” Jensen says, his stomach roiling harder than ever. That makes another lie--Jared told him that he’d gone to a state college and majored in public relations.

“Yeah.” Alona smiles a little wistfully. “He’s cute too. Anyways, if we want to get up and walk around, we should probably do it now.”

Jensen’s not sure how the rest of the concert goes after the intermission. He remembers talking with Alona, and listening to the second half of the show as well as the encore but that’s about it, nothing specific. Snagging a program on the way out, he leafs through the pages until he finds mention of Jared. It’s right there in fine black print, _Jared Padalecki_ , and any excuses Jensen’s made on Jared’s behalf go flitting out of his head. Somehow, he separates from Alona outside without being too much of an asshole, locates his car in the cavernous parking garage, and drives back to his apartment. 

**

Jensen changes as soon as he gets home into a pair of ratty sweats and an old t-shirt. Debating the merits of going to bed, he ends up on his couch instead, mindlessly watching TV as he mulls things over in his head. His thoughts are running in a continuous loop of bitter anger and embarrassment, sharp and nauseating in the pit of his stomach. He’d been so sure when he started this thing with Jared that he’d managed to find a relationship that was actually based on something substantial. Maybe it’s the way that they were friends before anything physical ever actually happened, but Jensen’s been hurt by boyfriends before, and it’s never, ever felt like this. He’s not so melodramatic as to say that it feels like someone’s taken a butcher knife to his chest, but he feels sick with how upset he is.

Even now, he’s still trying to come up with excuses that make sense in the context of the situation, but each one is more outlandish and improbable than the last. The fact of the matter is that Jared had never seemed like an asshole, and Jensen had loved how easy their relationship had been, even at the beginning when he wasn’t even sure if Jared was gay. Now that there’s mounting evidence that Jared isn’t nearly as nice and straight-arrowed as he seems, Jensen can’t even know what to think.

It’s nearing eleven when he hears a knock at his door, and his heart jumps into his throat because fuck, he forgot that Jared said he might come over after work. Only now Jensen knows where Jared’s really been going, and he’s not sure how to confront the situation. Logically, he knows that he could ignore Jared and pretend that he went to bed early, but he crosses the room and opens the door instead.

“Hey,” Jared says lazily, leaning against the frame. He looks tired, and Jensen knows that he’s changed from the tux he was wearing earlier. And that’s the real thing, isn’t it? Jared’s been lying to him since they met, and Jensen’s been believing him without a second thought.

“Hi,” Jensen responds, and Jared drops a soft kiss on Jensen’s mouth before he can step away. Jensen resists the urge to draw his hand across his lips and he gives Jared a fake little smile, his heart going double-time at the anticipation of the coming confrontation. He steps aside to let Jared in so they don’t have to do this out in the hall.

“How was work?” Jensen asks, turning his back on Jared to go over the the couch. He’s having trouble even looking Jared in the eyes, he feels so betrayed. 

“Good,” Jared says. “Long. Hey, is something wrong?”

Well, that was quick. Jensen adopts a falsely cheery voice and says, “So guess what? I went to the orchestra concert tonight with a girl from work.” Beside him, Jared goes very, very still.

“The funniest thing,” Jensen continues. “You know, the first chair cellist looked a lot like you. Sounded like you too.”

“Jensen.” Jared sounds choked, panicked. “Look, I can explain.”

“Don’t,” Jensen says shortly. “Just--Jesus, Jared. Have you ever told me the truth about _anything_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jared says emphatically. He’s about to keep talking but Jensen cuts him off again.

“Really?” Jensen asks. “Because it doesn’t look like that from where I’m sitting. God, Jared, you didn’t even tell me where you worked. You lied to me about where you went to college.” Jared winces, and eyes are wide and guilty.

“Jen,” Jared says again, putting a strained emphasis on the word. 

“Maybe,” Jensen takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Maybe we should stop this. I just, I can’t trust you anymore.”

“No,” Jared says, and he sounds so upset that Jensen might’ve capitulated if he’d been any less angry. “C’mon, I have an explanation. Just, please listen, okay?”

Jensen knows he’s being unreasonable but he feels that he has the right to pull the asshole card. He turns his face away, staring at the nondescript partition that separates his kitchenette from his living room. “I don’t think you can say anything that’ll make it better. Can you just leave?”

“Jensen,” Jared says again, almost pleading. “Please, just let me--”

“No,” Jensen says, his voice hard. “Go. I’m serious, Jared.” He doesn’t turn around again, but he can practically feel Jared’s hesitation. He makes his posture as unyielding as he possibly can, stiff and angry.

“I’m sorry,” Jared says, and he sounds perfectly miserable. Jensen doesn’t answer, and he hears the door open and close and he’s alone again.

**

When Jensen moved to the city, straight after graduation with no friends within a hundred miles, he spent quite a lot of time on the phone with his best friend from college, Danneel. She’s fucking gorgeous, she doesn’t take shit from anyone, and if there was even the slightest possibility that he was straight, he’d have proposed to her years ago. Whenever he has any problem, she’s the first person he calls because she never fails to call him out when he’s being a stubborn jackass.

“Jensen.” Even on the phone, Danneel makes him feel like a ten-year old. “Do you think maybe you were being a little harsh?”

“No!” Jensen exclaims, cradling his cell between his ear and his shoulder as he rifles around his fridge for something to drink. “Danny, he lied to me about practically everything.”

“Jen, I get where you’re coming from. And for the record, I agree with you. But don’t you think that maybe you should listen to him explain at least? I know you--you really liked him and you miss him, and you’re a miserable asshole when you’re upset. I’m just saying that maybe you should go over and listen to what he has to say before you break all ties.”

Danneel really does know him too well. Jensen’s been avoiding Jared as best as he can, seeing that they live on the same floor. He kind of feels like he’s in fourth grade, staying away from the asshole down the block who used to taunt him and kick sand on his pants, but it’s the best way he knows how to deal with the situation. Which is to not deal with it at all and wait for it to go away. He likes this plan of attack.

“I just--I don’t know,” he sighs into the receiver. “You don’t know how it was watching him, knowing that I was probably the only one in the audience who knew him personally but didn’t really know who he was.”

“Oh, my God,” Danneel says. “Stop being such a fucking drama queen. Grow a pair and just go talk to him again. He lied. He might have a good explanation. He might not. At least you’ll know instead of just wallowing in your apartment like a thirteen-year-old girl crying about the fucking Jonas Brothers.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jensen says.

“I’m serious,” Danneel says. “Talk to him. I’m not calling again until you do. I don’t like you enough to put up with you when you’re pulling this emo shit.” She hangs up the phone, and Jensen’s sort of stares at his phone’s wallpaper until the microwave oven signals that his dinner is ready.

**

In the end, Jensen doesn’t so much as decide to talk to Jared as he’s forced into it. He’s in the elevator, watching the doors close slowly when Jared throws his big foot in the way. 

“Thanks,” Jared grunts, and then he gets a closer look at Jensen and immediately looks to the floor. Objectively, Jensen can see that Jared looks like shit, and even though a tiny part of him revels in it, he mostly feels guilty because he did that. He threw Jared out without so much as an explanation and spent the next two weeks ignoring him as much as physically possible, and now Jared’s in the elevator looking drawn and tired, and it’s probably mostly Jensen’s fault. Jensen contemplates leaving the elevator and taking the stairs instead, but the doors are already closing again, and he doesn’t want to make it that obvious that he’s been doing his best to avoid Jared.

Jensen opens his mouth three separate times before closing it again; he can’t come up with something to say and he isn’t quite sure if he’s ready to ask for Jared to explain himself. The hurt is still there, eating at the pit of his stomach, and even though he misses Jared more than he though he would, he’s still harboring the anger and betrayal. They’re heading to the third floor after passing the second when Jared starts talking.

“You look good,” he says a little stiltedly.

“Thanks,” Jensen says, not taking his eyes from the row of buttons directly in front of him. He can practically hear Jared trying to figure out what to say when the doors open on their floor. 

He’s halfway out of the elevator when Jared grabs his arm. “Jensen, please,” he says. “Can we just talk?”

“Jared,” Jensen starts.

“Two minutes,” Jared bargains. The elevator begins to buzz in protest because Jensen’s in the way of letting the doors close, and he winces at the noise.

“Fine,” he sighs, and Jared lets go so they can both walk out into the hall.

“My apartment then?” Jared asks, looking hopeful. 

“No,” Jensen says. “Two minutes. You can handle it in the hallway.”

“Okay.” Looking down at his shoes awkwardly before he squares his shoulders and look Jensen in the eye. “Look, I’m really sorry. I never meant for it to get that out of hand.”

“You mean you never meant for me to find out about it,” Jensen says coldly.

“No!” Jared looks aghast at the idea, and Jensen wonders idly if he means it or if he’s as good of an actor as he is at lying. “I was going to tell you. I just wasn’t sure how.”

“Why’d you lie in the first place?” Jensen says, maybe a little too forcibly.

Jared looks down at his shoes again. “When I ran into you, I wasn’t sure how to talk to you. I mean, yeah, I wanted to get to know you because you’re gorgeous and you live where I live, and I was hoping that we maybe had something in common but I wasn’t sure how to start a conversation with you. And then you had a violin, and I was so relieved that we had something we could talk about.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you lied to me,” Jensen says.

“I know,” Jared returns miserably. “It’s just--you agreed to come over and play with me and I didn’t even think you would at first. And we sounded really good, Jen, and I’m not just saying that. I play my cello for hours every day with some of the best musicians in the state, but every time I came home and I’d look forward to playing with you most of all. Just, Jesus, Jensen, we _fit_. And I’m sorry I lied--I didn’t mean to. It’s just, you asked me and I panicked because I was afraid that you’d be upset that I didn’t tell you right from the start. And I lied about school because you don’t go to Juilliard and major in public relations. But that’s it. Everything else was the truth.”

“You should’ve just told me,” Jensen says, feeling overwhelmed and directionless, unsure of whether he should be as angry anymore.

“I know,” Jared says. “God, I know. I just didn’t want things to be weird with us from the get-go, and I like playing together, and it doesn’t really matter that I do it for a living, Jen, because you’re really good with your violin. I meant to tell you sooner, I swear. I just kept putting it off because we were having such a good time together.”

“It’s just,” Jensen says hesitantly, “I don’t know if I can trust anything you say anymore.”

“Everything else has been the truth,” Jared says earnestly. “I promise. You can call my momma if you don’t believe me. I really did start playing the cello on a tiny viola. I grew up in San Antonio with my parents and my older brother and my older sister. I broke my arm in fourth grade trying to do a backflip off of a slide. That’s the truth, I swear.”

Jensen is quiet for a couple seconds. “You gotta give me some time, Jared,” he says. “Just--let me think about it, okay?”

Jared turns his puppy-eyes on Jensen, his hair flopping into his face. “I really like you, Jen. I’m sorry I fucked up, but if you give me a second chance, I swear I’ll do better.”

“I just need some space,” Jensen says, turning away from the elevator. 

“At least let me know,” Jared says to his retreating back. “Don’t just avoid me, hoping I’ll go away.” Jensen doesn’t respond to this and instead turns his key in the lock and steps into his empty apartment.

**

Jensen wasn’t lying to Jared; he really does spend an embarrassingly long time thinking it over. He calls Danneel and tries to talk to her about it, but she just insults his intelligence and tells him to get laid already. He understands why Jared did what he did--really, he does. It’s just that he’s not sure he’s ready to forgive and forget that easy. Whatever the reason, Jared was deliberately dishonest from the start, and Jensen doesn’t know how to react to that. Is it bad enough to disrupt any chances of their relationship working out at all? Is this something Jensen can eventually get past? It’s all muddled in his head, and each time he thinks he’s come to a decision, he questions it almost immediately.

In the end though, it comes down to the fact that he _misses_ Jared. Whatever stupid shit Jared pulled, Jensen misses being with him. Boyfriend stuff aside, Jared was a good friend, and they’d clicked from the beginning. It’s only been a couple of months since they met, but Jared had become such an integral part of his life in this city that he’d almost forgotten what it had been like in the pre-Jared era. He spends a long time on his couch, turning his remote over in his hands before he finally comes to a decision on one Sunday afternoon. It’s been a month since Jensen confronted Jared about the whole orchestra thing, and Jensen’s tired of being angry and he’s tired of being lonely.

He picks up his violin and exits his apartment, walking down the hall to Jared’s place. Knocking on the door, he hopes that Jared’s there, feeling like the self-same dork he was the first time he came over with his violin. Jared answers the door after a minute, looking bleary-eyed and confused, and Jensen doesn’t even give him a second to think about what’s going on before he side-steps Jared into his apartment.

“Jensen, what?” Jared begins, but Jensen cuts him off.

Holding out his hand, Jensen says, “Hi. My name is Jensen Ackles. I hear you play the cello. So happens I play the violin. I think we should get together sometime.”

Jared shakes his hand, but he’s kind of looking like Jensen’s a crazy amnesiac wielding a musical instrument. Jensen goes on to clarify, dropping his violin against the wall before straightening up and saying, “Look. As long as you don’t pull this shit again, I’m okay with forgetting it ever happened. Let’s just start over.”

Jared smiles widely, and Jensen feels warm and really fucking happy. “If we start over, does this mean that I have to pretend that all I want is friendship for a month until I can make a move?”

“Yes,” says Jensen, but he’s already moving closer, and they meet in the middle, their lips brushing gently at first before Jensen uses his hands to pull Jared’s face down so that they can kiss properly. It’s like something’s slotting back into place, and Jensen can’t believe he took this long to come back to this.

**

Later, they’re curled around each other in Jared’s bed, the sheet thrown messily over both of them. Jared is rubbing these small, soothing circles on Jensen’s back with his large, warm palm and Jensen’s just about to fall into a doze when Jared speaks up.

“Since we started over and all and you were the one to introduce the idea of playing together, does that make you the creepy pedophile music teacher?” 

The comment surprises a bark of laughter out of Jensen. “Fuck you!” he says, pushing at Jared, trying to make him fall off of the bed. The resulting fight ends with a broken alarm clock, Jared in a heap on the floor with all of the covers strewn about him, and Jensen on top of Jared, laughing into his shoulder. Jared brings his hands up to stroke circles on Jensen’s back again, and all Jensen can think is, _Yup. I definitely think I could get used to this_.

END


End file.
